


Did I find you or did you find me?

by neverendingdream



Category: Crazy Rich Asians (2018)
Genre: A prequel of sorts, F/M, First Meetings, Nick is a charming gentleman, Rachel and Nick vs. racism and microaggressions, Rachel is unashamedly Asian American, loosely based off of their first meeting in the book, this is just an excuse for self indulgent fluff tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-23
Updated: 2018-08-23
Packaged: 2019-07-01 12:40:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15774312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neverendingdream/pseuds/neverendingdream
Summary: Rachel Chu was Chinese American, emphasis onAmerican, thank you very much, and though she had been born in China, New York City was her home-- there was no question about that.Nick was, well,Nick. He was the new history professor and Rachel's friend Sylvia couldn’t stop talking about him. To be completely honest, to Rachel, he was an enigma.Luckily, the two of them hit it off.In hindsight, it was all thanks to the Talking Heads. And, of course, Sylvia Wong-Swartz.(“I met a girl, fell in love, and now I want to marry her.”For Rachel, it had never been quite that simple.)Nick and Rachel meet for the first time.





	Did I find you or did you find me?

**Author's Note:**

> title taken from the Talking Heads' _This Must Be the Place_ because it's 100% canon that Rachel and Nick are Talking Heads trash and this is their song
> 
> the general plot of the first meeting between Nick and Rachel here is taken from their first meeting in the actual book, though since I felt both Rachel and the movie as a whole were more Asian American, I took some liberties with the details to better fit with the movie and movie!Rachel

 

Sylvia Wong-Swartz, longtime friend of Rachel’s as a fellow professor in NYU’s economics department, was without a doubt, a good friend, the kind Rachel could take out for a drink and spill all her problems to with only _minimal_ judgement. The only problem, Sylvia’s fatal flaw, as it were, was that Sylvia meddled. If she thought there was something lacking in Rachel’s life, then she, oftentimes quite _clumsily_ , tried to fix it. _It_ meaning Rachel's life.

And recently, or perhaps it hadn't been quite so recently (to Rachel this new meddling had been going on for far too long already), Sylvia had decided that Rachel, like herself, needed to settle down already and find herself a husband. It was a good idea, in theory. Rachel herself had even entertained the thought herself, albeit on particularly late and alcohol-filled nights. She saw the way Sylvia and her husband looked at each other, in fact, she'd been a bridesmaid at their wedding, and had been _somewhat_ of a matchmaker to them both.

In her defense, they'd needed the extra help. Sylvia and Mark had been orbiting around each other for _weeks_ on end, with crushes so big on each other it was excruciating to watch them interact. Rachel, more than fed up with her friends’ torment, had unceremoniously left the two of them together at a restaurant, and the rest was history.

Now that she thought about it, maybe this new crusade by Sylvia was some sort of revenge for that time. It certainly _felt_ like revenge, with Sylvia opening each conversation they had together with the words: “ _Rachel, I've found your future husband.”_

 

None of Sylvia’s recommended matches had earned that dubious honor in Rachel's heart, but the most recent of them, Trey, an intelligent African American lawyer, had been a sweetheart. She'd never tell Sylvia, but maybe her friend _was_ on the right track. Or, at the very least, she knew Rachel's taste in men better than Rachel herself.

After Rachel and Trey's breakup, Sylvia had been unusually quiet, even accounting for the 'period of grace’ she normally gave Rachel to recover post-breakup, a period which, despite the name, involved the two of them going out for far too many drinks while Rachel complained and Sylvia listened. Said period normally lasted two weeks or more, depending on how bad the break was, and how much Rachel had liked her partner.

With Trey, Rachel _had_ thought it might've all worked out, but when their relationship fell through, they'd parted on good terms, not nearly heart-wrenching enough to merit over a _month’s_ grace. Hell, he still texted her from time to time.

No, Sylvia was up to something, only Rachel wasn't quite sure what.

 

* * *

 

When Sylvia breezed into Rachel's office a week later, Rachel wasn't quite sure what to expect.

“Rachel,” she began breathlessly. “Ignore everything I've said up until now, because,” she gulped down a breath of air, “because, _this time_ , I. Have. Found. Him.”

“My future husband?” Rachel asked drily. “Sylvia, I swear you say some variation of this every single time.”

“No, no, no,” Sylvia replied, dropping into the chair Rachel normally reserved for office hours. She took another deep breath, then leaned forward across Rachel's desk to look Rachel dead in the eye.

“I'm serious this time, Rache. He's definitely _the one._ ”

Rachel nodded slowly, gesturing with her hand for her friend to continue as she forced herself not to roll her eyes. ' _So far, so normal,’_ she thought to herself. Despite Sylvia’s all-too-earnest gaze, she wasn't going off her usual script for all these 'perfect matches’ that she kept finding for Rachel.

“Ah, _Rachel_ , I know what you're thinking! That look in your eyes is the one you always get at staff meetings, isn't it? But honestly, I swear, this time, _he's different._ In the best way possible. Aren't you even going to ask who the lucky man is?”

“No,” Rachel deadpanned, before laughing at Sylvia’s scandalized expression.

“Rachel Chu,” her friend proclaimed, “what would your mother think of you making light of your last chance at marrying?”

“She wouldn't care at all,” Rachel replied, still laughing. She raised an eyebrow. “Single mom, remember? Mom cares most about what _I_ want, unlike a certain friend sitting across from me this very instant.”

“As _if_ ,” Sylvia scoffed, taking a pen off the top of one of Rachel's many stacks of ungraded assignments.

“It's like this,” she said, flipping over a piece of scratch paper and beginning to draw. “This,” she said, punctuating each word with a hurried line stroke, “is you.”

“Cute,” Rachel replied, poking at the stick figure her friend had just drawn. “I think it's a perfect likeness.”

A pen cap sailed in her direction.

“ _Rachel_! Stop with the snark and let me finish!”

Before Rachel could respond, Sylvia continued talking, her voice as serious as if she were lecturing one of her classes.

“This,” she indicated a second stick figure, “is your mother. Not a word out of you, Rachel Chu!”

Rachel closed her mouth on another teasing comment and settled for laughing instead.

“Now,” Sylvia continued, ignoring Rachel, “these are all the men you've dated over the past five years. Don't you see a _very_ obvious pattern here? There's a clear difference between you and your mother, and them.”

“They're all men,” Rachel instantly replied, and was rewarded with the uncapped pen thrown in her face. Sylvia sighed in exasperation, crumpling up the paper.

“Rachel Chu, are you too dense to see what I'm getting at? In all the time I've known you, you've _never_ dated a single Asian. Why is that?”

Rachel bit her lip, finally serious. It all boiled down to a single point, or rather, _problem_.

Rachel was Chinese American, emphasis on _American_ , thank you very much, and though she had been born in China, New York City was her _home_ \-- there was no question about it. But she'd never met an Asian guy who treated both the Asian and American parts of her with equal respect-- they'd always want her to be utterly _Asian_ , because if they'd wanted to date an _American,_ they could just as easily date a white woman.

Even though Rachel herself struggled with her identity and how to balance it when she lived in a country where the majority of people would look at her and dismiss her as Asian and nothing more when at the same time her mother was always complaining that her daughter acted far too _white_ for her liking, it didn't mean she wanted to be reduced to less than what she was, and definitely not by someone she'd spend the rest of her life with. Rachel was _proud_ to be Asian American, no matter how hard it was at times.

But that had made it so that it was difficult (read: nearly impossible) for her to hit it off with Asian guys, who oftentimes more or less _expected_ her to try and date a few of them purely because she was Asian, too.

 

All of it was too hard for Rachel to properly express to Sylvia, who hadn't had nearly as many reservations as she had. Instead, she fell back on an old excuse, wincing at how flat it sounded.

“I don't know. We just don't click, Sylvia.”

Sylvia frowned, like always, but didn't press any further. Instead, she changed the topic once more, veering back into her description of _him_ . _The one._

“Anyway, Rache, if you weren't so dense about everything except economics, you’d ask me _why_ I brought up the unspeakable: that Rachel Chu is somehow not attracted to Asian men.”

She paused, for the first time looking a little uncertain and Rachel braced herself for the words she knew were to come.

“The thing is, Rache. This guy I was talking about? Well. He's Asian. But hear me out.”

 

His name was Nick Young, and he was the new professor for the history department. But more importantly, (according to Sylvia) he was _hot._ And, he had a British accent, courtesy of Oxford.

(“Don't even give me that look,” Sylvia warned, shaking her head at Rachel. “I _know_ you like European accents.”)

More than anything else, however, Nick Young was a gentleman. Rachel's students would trickle into the lecture hall, groups of them whispering about the new Professor Young, how he had held the door for all of them, how a student had slipped on a wet tile in the hallway and he'd caught them, book bag and all. Hell, she was half expecting to hear he'd saved someone's life, some of the stories were so outlandish.

She believed a few of them, of course, he greeted her and her colleagues whenever he saw her in the hallway, and he _had_ held doors for her before. But his politeness seemed almost too good to be true.

 

To be completely honest, to Rachel, Nick Young was an enigma.

And she was half-dreading, half greatly anticipating the day that Sylvia would announce that she'd set up a casual date between him and her.

 

* * *

 

In the days leading up to the inevitable, Rachel was loathe to say it, but she _was_ interested in Nick Young. Because he was sweet and polite to her, and was always stopping by the Department of Economics, bringing all the professors coffee, or lunch, claiming he had been thinking of them, or was ‘in the area.’ Professor Smith, never one to turn down a free lunch (quite literally) joked that Nick must have his eye on one of them, winking meaningfully at Rachel, the only single Asian woman in the department. The other professors laughed while Rachel’s ears burned red, but Sylvia turned a glare on them all, snapping that Nick could just as easily be interested in Laura White, who taught introductory classes to microeconomics.

 _There it was again_ . She didn’t _want_ to be a walking Asian stereotype. So what if she was good at academics, good at math? So what if she was born in China and was fluent in Mandarin? They had no right to judge her and worse, _assume_ everything about her life.

Perhaps that was another reason why she’d avoided dating Asian men: because she cared too much about how the people around her would see it. And now that she’d realized why, she hated herself a little for caring so much, for consciously _avoiding_ a part of her own culture.

 

That day, she went out of her way to stop by Nick’s office, and thank him for the frequent treats, on behalf of her department.

He glanced up at her from grading papers when she paused in the open doorway, a pair of glasses askew on his nose, his hair and normally impeccable fashion _rumpled_ , in an almost adorable way.

“Rachel,” he said with a warm but tired smile. They both realized he’d used her first name at approximately the same moment, his sleepy eyes widening suddenly as she blushed. After an awkward silence, with Rachel still hovering in the doorway, he coughed, seeming to come to his senses.

“Please, come in. Apologies for the mess. Did you need something?”

Looking back on it, that was when she had first truly _seen_ him, as Nick Young, not as just ‘some Asian guy’. She’d judged him, assumed about him, too, and in that moment, she felt sorry for it, not just because he was undeniably attractive, but because she _knew_ what it felt like to be judged. To have everything about your life assumed within a second.

“It’s nothing really,” Rachel said at last, and then faltered, willing her blush away at the thought of Professor Smith’s joke. Should she tell him about it? Of course, she _knew_ the old professor hadn’t meant to be _racist_ _or anything,_ but it had rubbed her the wrong way, and Sylvia, too. Somehow, she had to know what he thought of it. If he’d think she was overreacting. If he’d have taken the joke in the same way.

“Of course it’s something!” He replied easily, sitting up and removing his glasses, his attention fully on her. “It’s not every day that the incredibly busy young economics professor, Rachel Chu, comes to visit little old me.”

Rachel stared at him blankly for a second. Was he...flirting with her? And in that Brit accent, too? Sylvia was going to have a field day when she heard all of this. Or-- she shook herself mentally. The professor’s off-key joke was getting to her.

  
Either way, she found herself smiling. _Two could play at this game._

 

* * *

 

Rachel left Nick’s office grinning like an idiot, a stitch in her side from laughing so hard. _By God_ , once she’d let go of her internalized prejudices, she’d realized that Nick Young was quite likely the most charming human being on the face of the Earth. Maybe ever.

And they’d hit it off. Really, _seriously_ , hit it off.

They were now officially on first-name basis, and he’d explained, quite earnestly, that he’d heard about her so much from Sylvia that he had taken an interest in her. Purely friendly intentions, of course. Though the lingering look he had given her when she’d gotten up to leave suggested otherwise.

 _God_ , she was going to die. Sylvia had been right for once.

They’d even _exchanged numbers_ , for crying out loud. _‘To continue the conversation,’_ he’d said. Of course. _Of course._

All in that amazing Brit accent of his.

And more importantly than that, when she’d eventually told him about the joke Professor Smith had cracked, he’d listened, gaze never once wavering from hers as she let it all out. _He’d listened_.

He’d told her that he was from Asia, from Singapore, where people like him were practically the majority and were treated as such, and he’d lived privileged until one of his best friends, a Turkish boy studying abroad in Singapore had opened his eyes. He’d told her of the culture shock he’d experienced when attending school in the UK, and he’d said, hesitantly, that even though he still didn’t quite understand the nuances of discrimination in America as opposed to Britain, he understood _her._

She would’ve married him on the spot right then if he’d asked her. But of course he had to ruin it by cracking a mischievous smile and joking that despite everything he'd just said, Professor Smith had been right. He _was_ interested in her.

“I can’t help it, you know,” he’d said, fighting back a smile. “You’re Asian, and single, and coincidentally, so am I!”

“Rachel,” he’d continued, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “We’re meant to be.”

 

* * *

 

A date was set by Sylvia Wong-Swartz herself, who was taking every opportunity to tease Rachel about Nick, but whether she would have set a date or not, they would have gone on one anyway. _Hell_ , even her students were beginning to gossip about her and Nick, and she knew why. She and Nick took turns bringing each other coffee, took every opportunity to ‘casually’ stop by each other’s office, and when all of their classes were over for the day and their grading wasn’t due soon enough for them to stay late, he walked her back to her apartment.

 _They’re dating_.

Everyone but her and Nick were saying it. Professor Smith had offered his personal congratulations, phrased in such a way that implied he felt that his unnecessary joke had been what had brought them together, but Rachel had ignored him.

(Later, she had to restrain Sylvia from throwing her pen at him.

“That idiot can’t take credit for what _I_ orchestrated!” She’d hissed furiously.)

Nick had taken it all in stride, offering that charming smile of his to anyone who stared at them in the halls, and waving away praise for _his_ supposed skills in ‘catching’ Rachel.

(“No, no, no,” he’d say, though his smile would be a little less genuine, a little more fixed. “You’ve got it all wrong. _Rachel’s_ the real charmer.”)

Later, he apologized to her for the comments, and asked her if she really wanted to do this. _To date him._

They’d had some sort of unspoken rule that they wouldn’t call themselves officially dating until going out to Sylvia’s recommended restaurant on a ‘real’ date, even if half the faculty and a quarter of the student body thought they were. But Nick was giving her a way out, a way to call it all off and just stay friends, though the thought was a bit laughable, and she genuinely appreciated it.

  
Personally, she thought they had too much chemistry to ever _just_ be friends.

 

* * *

 

“You’re going to the La Lanterna today after work!” Sylvia cheered, or rather, commanded. Nick, who had gradually become a third member of their friendship smiled, locking eyes with Rachel.

“Of course we are,” he said, voice soft, before he broke into a grin. “Aren’t we, Rache?”

“As long as you’re not lactose intolerant,” she replied, grinning back. “They have the best coffee and cakes, but be warned, it’s all filled with milk.”

“Don’t worry about me. I take my coffee black.”

“Like your soul,” Sylvia scoffed, inserting herself in the rapidly diminishing space between Rachel and Nick.

“Remember me?” She asked, turning a pout on Rachel. “I’m Sylvia. I existed before this British accent did.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know you,” Rachel said with a straight face, keeping her eyes on Sylvia so she wouldn’t smile at the sight of Nick collapsing with laughter on Sylvia’s other side. Sylvia met her gaze until Rachel couldn’t take it any longer, and she burst into a fit of laughter to match Nick’s.

“You two are the worst,” Sylvia said, shaking her head. “I’m going to have to start bringing Mark to work if you carry on like this.”

 

* * *

 

Despite how easily she and Nick got on, Rachel couldn’t help but feel a little anxious at the prospect of a date (a real date!) with him. Thousands of ways it could all go wrong crowded her mind until she found herself outside of Nick’s office, ten minutes earlier than arranged, and too nervous to open the door or even knock.

 _‘What are you doing, Rachel?’_ She asked herself. _‘You’ve been on plenty of dates before, and you’re much closer to Nick than you ever were to even the best dates!’_

It was different, though. She couldn’t quite explain the feeling, but she wanted, no, _needed_ everything to go perfectly.

After a few more moments of pep-talking herself in a way that would have made her mother proud, she raised her hand to the door, ready to knock, when the door swung open, and she was face-to-face with Nick, who looked just as surprised as she felt.

“Rache? You’re early!”

A hundred different interpretations of his surprise flooded through Rachel, and she felt herself blushing-- _I’m bothering him, I should come back later, ugh, I’m too embarrassed to do this anymore_ \-- but then a heart-meltingly sweet smile made its way onto his face, and all her worries disappeared.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he said. “I think I’m more nervous than when I took the Oxbridge exams.”

“Don’t lie,” she responded, automatically pouting, but a wave of relief washed over her. _He was nervous, too._

“I’m not lying. Rache, you’re--” he broke off, disappearing back into his office. Rachel made to follow him, but he was out in a second, flourishing a bag before him.

“I almost forgot,” he said. “For you.”

Rachel was at a loss for words. Nick took the opportunity to press the bag into her hands, smiling sheepishly.

“I didn’t quite know what to get you. But I knew I had to get something.”

“Nick,” Rachel said quietly, finding her voice. He looked back at her, worried.

“Is it too much? Or are you allergic to nuts? I know we both have a sweet tooth, but I wasn’t sure--”

She hugged him, closing her eyes against his chest.

“It’s perfect,” she murmured. “ _You’re_ perfect.”

A second later, her eyes snapped open, and she pulled away to look up into Nick’s blushing face.

“But I didn’t get you anything!”

He blinked. Cleared his throat. Rachel had rendered him and all of his charm speechless.

“I-- no, you’re-- it’s alright,” he managed, before pulling her back into the warmth of his chest.

 

* * *

 

In hindsight, Rachel isn’t sure how they even made it outside of the university. God knows, _she_ had been fully ready to confess to him in the dimly-lit hallway outside his office. It had all just been so much, and in that moment, she’d realized just how serious she was about him.

She liked him. Really, _really_ liked him.  _Hell_ , she could even imagine--maybe-- marrying him. And the coffee shop would’ve been the perfect place to confess, with its dreamy lights and warm atmosphere, but before they made it even halfway there, in the middle of Washington Square Park, Nick turned to her, eyes wide and earnest.

“Rachel,” he said, a lone busker’s soulful voice lending the scene extra romance. “I’ve been in love with you ever since I first set eyes on you. Will you let me be your boyfriend?”

“Of cour--” she began, but froze as she realized what the busker was singing.

_‘And you’re standing here beside me, I love the passing of time.’_

“That’s--” she began again, but Nick cut her off, looking at the busker with newfound interest.

“Isn’t this the Talking Heads? _‘This Must Be the Place’_?”

Rachel’s heart nearly stopped. Nick knew one of her favorite bands, one of her favorite songs.

“Nick,” she whispered, and he turned back to her from where he had taken out his wallet to give some money to the busker.

“Rachel?” He asked, hurrying back to her side. “Are you alright?”

She stared up at him, his concerned gaze following hers.

“Just perfect,” she murmured.

  
And next to the splashes of the fountain, the melody of _‘This Must Be the Place’_ winding around them to create a world all of their own, Rachel stood on tiptoes, her arms around Nick’s neck even as he leaned down to press his lips against hers.

.

.

.

When they finally make it to the cafe, lips equally swollen and hair disheveled, eyes sparkling like a thousand stars, they’ll both order coffee, though they don’t need it, it’s warm enough for the both of them.

Rachel will order a cake. Nick won’t. He’ll wheedle half of it out of her.

 

(On the long, comfortable walk back, he’ll wheedle half of the cookies he gave her out of her, too.

“You scheming devil,” she’ll tease fondly.

“Only ever yours,” he’ll reply.)

**Author's Note:**

>  ~~cant stop wont stop writing cra ff~~  
>   
> 
> ok tbh i changed their book first meeting just so they could kiss ~~sue me kevin kwan~~  
>   
> 
> feel free to prompt me! my creative juices are in high spirits these days


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